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Trust Issues
Blurr wanders the Rust Narrows of Nyon in search of Hot Rod, who supposedly lives -somewhere- around here. He shouldn't be too hard to pick out, right? What with that flame-y paintjob and especially that bright yellow spoiler. If Hot Rod does live here though, the racer has to admit he feels a little bit sorry for him because it's a complete dump. Well in the mind of someone who's been basically spoiled pretty badly his entire life. It takes a race to catch a racer, and the sound of high performance engines screeching across a finish line just might be enough to draw Blurr's attention. One hopes, anyway. It's certainly more interesting than the abandoned air of flaking, decaying buildings. A sunken track half-obscured by netting above does nothing to hide the glint of Hot Rod's spoiler. He didn't win. BOOOOO. He sulks like a whiney baby at the sidelines as the winner earns a prize that's little more than a pittance to a racer like Blurr. PS: this is all super illegal. The racing does attract Blurr's attention, after all he is a racer himself. He watches the tracks, mentally scrutinizing each contestant's performance. Pff, they were all rookies! He shakes his head, as he spots Hot Rod totally not winning the race. So guess who is standing by the finish line once Hot Rod is done pouting? Yep, the best racer on the planet himself. He chuckles. "Don't get caught up in the 'final lap rush' thing. It's a myth. If you fall too far behind, the last few half-kils won't be enough distance to get ahead of the game. You gotta pace yourself right." "I guess /you'd/ know. Hey, Blurr." Hot Rod doesn't seem as excited to see him as he usually is -- maybe because just /didn't-win/ a race. There's another word for that -- what do they call it? NEVER MIND. HE IS JUST MOVING ON. Pushing away from the tracks to head over to Blurr, he brightens somewhat. It's inevitable that Blurr would draw attention in this context and just as inevitable that it would spill over to Hot Rod. Also inevitable: he /basks/ in it. Mmm, attention. (Blurr gets more. No one tell Hot Rod.) "Actually glad to see you. Wanted to talk." And yet, did not seek him out to do so. He sobers as he continues, like someone facing up to something ... complicated. "You got a bit?" "Of course I would." Blurr grins and pats Hot Rod on the bright yellow spoiler back. "Thought it would help." He doesn't stress the not-winning thing, because does Hot Rod even know the word 'lose'? Probably not, in much the same way Ultra Magnus doesn't even know the word 'fun'. And there are probably -other- words. And yeah, several people are pointing and whispering because oh my Primus it's Blurr the best athlete ever, although most people seem too shy to approach. After all he must be having an -important- conversation with that red and yellow guy who just now -didn't win- that race. When Hot Rod mentions that he wants to talk, Blurr also brightens, looking hopeful. "Oh, well perfect timing! I had been hoping to run into you, in fact." he lowers his voice. "Could we go somewhere private?" "Yeah. In fact, there's this cool place you might like--." And that's probably just enough to get Blurr's hopes up that Hot Rod is going to tell him secret things like a /real/ friend who /trusts/ him, but -- that's not what happens. He leads Blurr to an empty floor on a long, long, looong abandoned building that looks down over the track. "Great view, right?" If you like rust, it's awesome. If they could get tetanus, this is the place you'd get it. Blurr nods at the locale, apparently satisfied as far as privacy goes. Great view? Uh, not so much. He's not quite sure where there are -any- great views anywhere in Nyon. "Um, yeah, I guess it's the best you could get around here!" he laughs. He's totally -not- dissing your hometown, Hot Rod. ANYWAY moving on. The racer's smile fades and he seems to sober up more, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. "Hot Rod," he says quickly, glancing around nervously as if to make sure no one is eavesdropping. "I may be good at looking like everything is going great, but the truth is..." The speedster starts to look distressed. "...Hot Rod, I need your help." Immediately -- and we do mean /immediately/ -- disregarding everything he had to tell (and give!) Blurr, Hot Rod focuses on him with open concern. It's like Blurr said some kind of magic words, the way he lights up. "Hey, what's up, mech? You know if I can help you I will. What's going on?" Blurr's face falls a little. "To be honest I'm not even quite sure myself..." He shakes his head. "Sometimes I feel like I'm doing something I hate, but I can't stop myself. And I think that I need to get away from the people who are convincing me it's right. If I can stop hearing them, then I can stop listening, too. I need to go somewhere they won't find me, where there are people who can get all the slag they've been feeding me out and put the real stuff in." Hot Rod tries really hard to look serious about this, but an air of relief lightens his expression in a way that just seems inappropriate to Blurr's words. He reaches for Blurr with a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Blurr: it's going to be okay. Whatever it is, we'll fix it. I think you're right. I think you're being played by the IAA, by -- I don't even know," he admits. "I've been trying to figure out how to help you. Last time we tried, it didn't really work out." Kaon was awesome for no one. "But I've got a better lead this time. What's been going on? What do /you/ want?" Blurr sighs. "I don't know, Hot Rod. I don't know what to do, that's why I'm asking you." He just looks so...helpless and sad at this. Like a little baby, because that's essentially what he is. "I just know it isn't right. It doesn't feel right. And you're the only person I know who seems to--to -know- what you want." He pauses and looks away for a second, then back. "See, don't tell anyone else about this, but the truth is...I'm not even a single vorn old. I know what the press says, and what the IAA says but I'm actually...I'm only about fifteen metacycles old. I was an -experiment-. My creator, Axle....he wanted to create the perfect racer, that was his dream all his life and he wanted to hold on to me so badly--he was willing to give up anything for it. And eventually he even lost his own life..." "It's not right that he treated you like an experiment," Hot Rod says, low and fierce, as every protective, gotta-be-a-hero switch gets flipped by Blurr's words and demeanor. He straightens, even though there is no audience to see it. "It's /also/ not right that you're surrounded by people trying to convince you to do what /they/ think is right, trying to /use/ you. The thing is, Blurr -- I don't want to be one of those people. It'd be easy," he says with maturity unexpected in a tiny hothead baby, "real easy. What I want is to give you whatever you need to have the freedom to do what /you/ think is /right/. Your spark's in the right place or you never would've gone for Feint like you did. You've got to trust that in you." "But I want to decide what's right based on the -truth-, not lies." Blurr insists. "And I don't know the truth, but I was hoping, maybe you could fill me in?" "Maybe." Hot Rod looks a little wry and takes a step back to give Blurr a longer look. He looks optimistic, despite his better judgment: hopeful. "You know Feint and Arcee have both said that they saw people messing with your head. Do you remember any of that?" Blurr nods gravely. "I know it happened. Like I said, Axle did it because he was so desperate to hold on to me. He was so afraid of anything that might take me away from him in one way or another." he sighs. "But...you said something about having a better lead this time, what was that about, exactly?" "Rung! He's back, he's out of jail, he's around -- if anyone can fix it, it sounds like he's the guy," Hot Rod says with warm enthusiasm. "So we call him up, go from there!" Oh, -Rung-. That was a...complicated situation. Blurr shrugs. "I'm not sure if there's anything else he can do at this point. It's not that I don't remember any more, I do, it's just..." he sighs. "I need to get away from them, and then maybe I'll feel right again. But I don't know, maybe he can help." "I hope so. Although he kind of ran off with this jerk--" That's you, Prowl. "--before I could really talk to him about it, so I don't know how to reach him, but I've been thinking about it," Hot Rod says with a carefree sort of 'it'll all work out' attitude. "Maybe Ratchet knows. Doctors talk to doctors, right? And he might be good to check, too. And help with the other thing," he belatedly remembers with a marked fall of enthusiasm. /The other thing/. Blurr looks confused at Hot Rod's final remark. "The other thing? What other thing?" Hot Rod bounces his foot in a fidgeting gesture. "Well, remember how I wanted to talk to you, too?" "...well?" Blurr prods further. "What is it?" "Ergh." After a moment, Hot Rod pulls what sure looks like a tracking bug out and holds it flat on his palm. There's something attached to it. "You want to tell me why /Starscream/ has it out for you? He wanted me to put this on you. Tracking device and drug. I got Nautica to make something to counteract the drug, but--." Blurr doesn't look surprised at this. Well, uhm...for one, he DID try to -kill- Starscream, once. But he isn't going to say that to Hot Rod, of course. "Starscream has it out for -anyone- who doesn't want to kiss the ground beneath his feet." the racer scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. He arches an optic ridge at Hot Rod. "You've been hanging around him?" "Are you kidding?" Hot Rod laughs and settles a little more comfortably now that the subject is out and in the open, and he no longer has to dread it. "No. No one hangs out with Starscream besides his own ego. No room for anyone else. He just seemed to think you were more likely to trust me -- which, well, who'd trust /him/? I didn't ask Nautica to do anything about the tracking thing. He'll still be able to find you. You might be able to turn that to your own advantage, though, if you're clear-headed." "If anyone does, they're idiots." Blurr says matter-of-factly. "What do you mean, he'll be able to find me, you didn't actually -do- what he wanted, did you?" "Well -- no, but if you take it." Hot Rod curls one finger back to tap the tracking device in his palm. "He could find you. But you can make that work for you, and Nautica's thing should counteract the drug, so it shouldn't be a bad thing -- and it'll help a friend of mine. The reason he had me do it is because he held it as a bargaining piece to fixing Drift. I won't betray you, but I won't abandon him. This should work for everyone, if you're willing to risk it to help someone you don't even like." "Fixing Drift?" Blurr arches an optic ridge at this. "What happened to him?" He's really just curious, honest... As ever, Hot Rod is happy to answer: for all his caution, it rarely stalls his mouth. "He shot himself. He's in /really/ rough shape, his head's all messed up, and he might not even get through it -- but if he does, he needs whatever help Starscream can get him. So." Closing his hand a moment over the tracker in a not-quite-closed fist, Hot Rod vents a long sigh, then holds it out again. "I guess I'm asking you if you're willing to take the risk." Blurr gives that closed hand a long look, then finally looks back up at Hot Rod. "Okay, Hot Rod. I'll take it--I'll help you, if you'll help me. Take me to your hideout, or base or whatever you have, so that if I ever need time away from the IAA, I can at least get some kind of a break from all their rustwash. And if Starscream tries to get the jump on me, I'll pretend I'm drugged, then spring the trap on him. Sound like a plan?' Oh, good. Bad thing leads to bad thing leads to bad thing. Why would it ever be a good thing. Hot Rod closes his hand over the tracker once again and thinks. "I can show you a place that you can go and get away from them if you need to," he sort of hedges. "Yeah? And where is it?" Blurr asks. Vague, why is he being so vague? Hot Rod looks slightly startled, then says, "Well, I figured I'd show you, but--." He radios an address. It's in the old heart of Nyon. (It's not the Acropolex.) "Think you can find your way without me if you need to?" Blurr nods. "Thanks." A pause. "Will I be...alone there?" "No. There are other people, mostly people out of work -- and the conditions aren't great," Hot Rod admits. "But it's quiet, and you'll have your own space. It might not be what you're used to, but it's away from other things. Did you /want/ to be alone?" "No, no!" Blurr shakes his head vigorously. "I didn't want to be alone, they...might come looking for me. You know, you saw what happened at Kaon. So I mean, are they capable? Can they help me if it came down to that? Can they at least defend themselves?" "They can defend themselves," says Hot Rod, sounding certain on that one point. "Nyon's not as helpless as it looks. Less and less so with every day that goes by. You'll be okay here." "Okay, but will they help me if I need it?" Blurr prods further. This is a deal right? Hot Rod smiles, and projects reassurance as hard as he can. He's not actually very good at it. "Yeah, Blurr, don't worry about it: once they know you're my friend, they'll take care of you." Blurr looks dubious. Hot Rod doesn't look all that confident. How well does he -actually- know those people? The racer gets the feeling that it's not all that well. He frowns. "...You don't even trust me yourself. How do you expect these strangers to?" He holds up the tracker. "Look Hot Rod if you want me to help you and Drift, you're gonna have to trust me. That's just the way it's going to be. So you tell me where the two of you are hiding out, and I'll see what I can do about Starscream." He sticks the device to the window overlooking the Rust Narrows, and starts to head off. "Come talk to me once you've made your decision, yeah?" "See you around, Rod." Fwoosh. Off he goes.